


One Or More of Seven Causes

by ladyblahblah



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Pon Farr, spores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyblahblah/pseuds/ladyblahblah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Pon farr</em> via alien pollen.  Yeah.  I went there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Or More of Seven Causes

**Author's Note:**

> It's time to start collecting comment fic from the first Ship Olympics orgy! \o/  The theme was "Lockdown!" and someone brought up quarantine situations and . . . well, then this happened.

****

 

**_"All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsions, habit, reason, passion, desire." --Aristotle_   
**

 

 

"Everything's gonna be fine." Jim paced around the quarantine room, unable to keep still. "Once the labs get back, Bones will be able to figure out what the hell we got hit with. This is just routine."

Spock lifted a single eyebrow. "I am aware of that, Captain," he said dryly. "Which of us, if I may ask, are you seeking to reassure?"

Jim flushed, but couldn't help a grin. "Sorry. I'm just feeling a little antsy."

"I am certain that Dr. McCoy will return with his analysis soon." Spock shifted his weight, and it was enough to catch Jim off guard. He'd never seen Spock acting restless before. "Unless, of course, his usual beads and rattles are proving ineffective."

"Wow." Jim snorted. "And here I'd have assumed that getting bitchy was _illogical_."

"What is truly illogical is keeping the ship's two highest ranking officers waiting for what will certainly be a clean bill of health."

Jim swallowed heavily. He knew he ought to be telling Spock to ease up, but something about the faint snarl in Spock's voice had Jim's blood running hotter. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Jim."

They both looked up at the sound of McCoy's voice, faintly tinny over the intercom that linked the quarantine room with the rest of Sickbay. McCoy stood at the dividing window, and Jim hurried over, anxious to hear the news.

"We, ah . . . we've analyzed the pollen from the flower samples you two brought back." There was a strange expression on the doctor's face, an odd mix of amusement and concern. "The good news is, it's not fatal. The scans we've taken are indicating that the pollen's stimulating your adrenal gland. You'll be getting a nice jolt of adrenaline to your system for a while. Ought to be just your speed, Jim."

"Funny," he shot back, but he was already feeling the effects that McCoy had mentioned. He felt wired, jittery, unable keep still. "So what's the bad news?"

McCoy scowled over Jim's shoulder. "The _bad_ news is that since Vulcans are so damned tight-lipped about pretty much damn near _everything_ , we're flying a little blind on how your First Officer's gonna be affected. Vulcan adrenal glands are a mite more sensitive than Human ones. If i had to guess, Spock, I'd say you'll be experiencing a bigger rush than Jim here, maybe increased testosterone production, some--woah. Spock?"

Jim turned, his heart racing at the sudden alarm on McCoy's face. He saw Spock standing behind him, wide-eyed and pale. His hands were fisted at his sides, but Jim could still see them trembling.

"Bones," he muttered, eyes still locked on Spock, "I think the bad news might be worse than you thought."

 

****************

 

"Okay." Jim took a deep, steadying breath. McCoy had left, headed back to the lab; with Spock in this state it was back to looking for an antidote instead of waiting for it to run its course. "All right.  Worst case scenario, Spock. What are we looking at?"

Spock made a visible effort to calm himself. "As my hormonal balance shifts, I will become more aggressive. It is probable that I will try to attack you, and with my greater strength enhanced by adrenaline it is highly unlikely that you will be able to withstand me."

Jim's mouth went dry. "Well, I guess I _did_ ask," he muttered under his breath. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside for the moment. "The room is sealed until the quarantine has run its course, so we're both stuck in here for the foreseeable future. We need some options."

"The pollen appears to pose no significant threat to humans. Dr. McCoy could release you--"

"Not a chance," Jim snapped, striding impatiently from one end of the room to the other. "You heard what he said when we beamed up; we've both still carrying some of that crap around in our lungs, and it's not just humans on board here. I breathe on the wrong person and it's a medical catastrophe." He glanced back at Spock. "Another one," he amended. "How's your control holding up?"

"It is . . . tentative," Spock gritted out. "Especially if you _constantly continue moving_."

Jim froze for a moment. "Right." The buzzing in his veins wouldn't let him stay still for long, however. "We're completely fucked, aren't we?" he said idly, and Spock's eyes pinched closed.

"Captain." His voice, when he spoke, was rough. " _Please_."

"Could this kill you?" Jim asked softly, and Spock forced his eyes open again, though he kept his gaze resolutely fixed somewhere over Jim's shoulder.

"That . . . entirely depends."

Jim turned to face him fully, hands on his hips and his best _I'm the captain and you'll damn well pay attention_ look on his face. "On what?"

Spock finally shifted his gaze to Jim's, and Jim found his breath stalling in his throat at the heat he saw there.

"On how successful you are in fighting me off."

Shit. _Shit_. So JIm's options were either to let Spock kill him, or to let Spock die. No, he told himself harshly, it wouldn't just be _letting him die_. To hear Spock tell it, Jim would be as good as killing him himself.

"This is _bullshit_ ," Jim swore, stepping forward in his agitation. He saw Spock tense, but he didn't back down. "There has to be something. Something we can do." His heart was hammering in his chest, his thoughts spinning with adrenaline and panic. He wasn't going to let this happen. He wasn't going to lose Spock. He _couldn't_.

Spock went as still as Jim had ever seen him, and Jim realized abruptly that he had spoken his last thoughts aloud.

Well.

Shit.

He shifted his weight, subconsciously bracing for an attack. Spock's fists, his rejection, it was all the same to him; either one would break him. Spock said nothing, however, still perfectly motionless apart from the fine tremors that were rocking his frame. Jim's heart was in his throat, his eyes locked on Spock's as he waited. This close Jim could see that Spock's pupils were blown, only a thin sliver of brown visible around the black. It was Jim's turn to shiver then, his tongue darting out to flick nervously over his lips.

Spock's eyes tracked the movement, and everything about him seemed to _sharpen_ somehow. For a moment Jim simply stood there at a loss.

A moment later things began to slide into place, and for the first time since they'd beamed back up, he felt something like hope unfurl within him.

"Withstand," he murmured to himself. Then, louder, "You said I wouldn't be able to _withstand_ you. Not fight, not survive." He risked a half-step closer. "What did you mean?"

"Jim." Spock's voice sounded choked. "Do not--"

"You recognized the symptoms when Bones was talking about them." He eased another few careful inches forward. "This is something you know about, or it's mimicking something you know about. Something survivable?"

Spock's jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as he took a deep, careful breath. "Given the proper set of circumstances. Yes."

"Proper circumstances," Jim muttered. "You at least have the _potential_ here, though, or you wouldn't have implied that you could survive."

"There is . . . still time. There is an emergency kit here. If there is something inside that could render me unconscious--"

"What did you mean when you said you'd attack me?" Jim demanded, stepping closer still. Spock's skin was flushed green, his body still trembling, and Jim's breathing started to grow heavier. Slowly, deliberately, he glanced down.

Spock was hard, and relief made Jim light-headed.

"Jim--"

He didn't want to hear it. Whatever excuse Spock was about to give, whatever deflection he was about to try, Jim didn't care. If his reaction was nothing more than a fluke of alien biology, it didn't matter. Jim closed the remaining distance between them in a single lunge, kissing Spock with every ounce of desperate determination in his body.

There was a growling sound against his lips, and Spock's arms closed around him like steel bands, lifting him off of his feet. A rush of air, and then Jim's back collided with the viewing window. He couldn't catch his breath, pinned between the cool glass and the furnace of Spock's body, slim hips already grinding against his. Jim managed to fist one hand in Spock's hair and the other in the fabric at the small of his back. All he could do at this point was hold on for the ride.

Spock was not idle, streaking his hands over every part of Jim's body that they could reach. Fabric was ripped away with an impatient snarl until he could reach the flesh beneath, and every pass of his fingertips over Jim's bare skin drew another sharp thrust of his hips. His mouth, meanwhile, was moving over Jim's face with surprising gentleness, lips lingering over meld points until Jim would swear he could feel tiny electric sizzles at the contact.

Jim tried to tug at Spock's clothing as well, to get to the body that had haunted his fantasies almost since the day they met. His current position afforded little control, however, and in the end he could do no more than moan when Spock tore open the front of his pants and freed Jim's cock to rub against Spock's still-clothed body.

The room spun again. Jim grasped Spock's shoulders for balance only to find himself tossed onto the biobed, tattered clothing hanging half-off of him and Spock's body pinning him down an instant later. He shifted his legs so that Spock's hips slid between them. The groan that wrenched its way out of Spock's throat went straight to Jim's cock and made it jump eagerly against the scratchy fabric of Spock's uniform pants. He realized then, to his surprise, that Spock was still trembling, his face buried in the side of Jim's neck as he struggled for breath.

"I am going to hurt you."

Jim felt the words more than heard them, and the whisper of Spock's lips against his throat sent a new wave of lust crashing through him that kept him from actually understanding the words at first. It was a warning, a plea, an apology . . . a certainty. Nerves bloomed in Jim's stomach, but the instinctive, needy way Spock was moving against him outweighed anything else.

"The emergency med kit." His own voice sounded like a stranger's, as low and rough as if he had been screaming this entire time. Maybe he had been. "Can you--"

Spock didn't shift away, apparently unwilling to let Jim out from underneath him, but one arm stretched out to scrabble for the small box beside the bed. Distracted by scraping his teeth in a trail from Jim's jaw to his collarbone, he only managed to knock it on its side. The lid popped open and the contents skittered across the table. Jim reached over blindly until his fingers encountered a tube, and he held it up for inspection. Basic antiseptic salve. Wouldn't have been his first choice, but it would do. He grabbed Spock by the back of the hair and hauled him up for another kiss, and his legs lifted to wrap tightly around Spock's waist.

It all seemed to happen quickly after that. Spock's clothes were torn off in as much haste as Jim's had been, and they slid against each other, skin slick with sweat. Jim emptied half of the tube into his hand and reached down to stroke Spock's cock, his head spinning at the chorus of growls and gasps that that simple action produced. Then his legs were being lifted, pressed towards his chest, and Spock slammed inside with one fierce thrust.

It hurt like hell for about thirty seconds. Then Spock's hips shifted, and what felt like every nerve ending in Jim's body blazed to life at once. The pain began to fade, until even the lingering ache was a kind of pleasure. They moved together, locked in sharply incandescent need for what felt like hours. When Jim felt Spock's hand move against his face he could do nothing but moan helplessly, tilting his head in unspoken invitation.

Spock's mind exploded inside of Jim's, engulfed and consumed and devoured until it was all too much and Jim flew apart, mind wrapped around Spock's to take him with him.

 

END

 

 

 


End file.
